Angel from Another World
by Norah the Poet
Summary: Clara Reinaert was an ordinary girl from a little place called Earth, until one day, she found herself smack dab in the middle of one of the greatest fictional adventures of all time; only for her, it was her new reality. Follow Clara as she joins the Fellowship, kills orcs, kicks ass, and maybe, even falls in love with a certain blue-eyed Prince.
1. Chapter 1: The Council

**Authors Note: Hella everyone! So, I've been DYING to write a LOTR fanfiction, and I finally mustered up the courage to do it! I hope you all enjoy, and as always, review review review!**

She was small. Extremely small. And that was the first thing Legolas had noticed as the Council gathered in Imladris. The next thing was the amethyst jewel sitting just above her lip, on the left side of her face. She was strange, almost ethereal in a way. She had an odd glow about her, a strong energy that seemed to seep out of her skin and into the air. Clara was her name, and that, was the extent of Legolas's knowledge.

Sighing, Clara rubbed her face in frustration. She knew what was to come, and sitting around, waiting for them to come to a decision she already knew they were going to make was driving her near insane. What a bore. It was a shame too, considering nothing was distracting her from the anxiety nagging at her brain. It was a plague she couldn't seem to rid herself of, for she was acutely aware of the gravity of the situation all of Middle Earth was in. When she had landed here in this world, this universe she believed to be fiction, a year ago, she had revealed to Gandalf that she knew what was to occur. But instead of allowing her to help, he demanded she never tell anyone what she knew. _For there is no telling the_ _severity of the consequences such_ _confessions would induce_. Her leg tapped incessantly, and she clicked the flat metal back of her labret against her teeth, wincing as the piercing caught the edge of one. She cursed quietly, and tried to return her attention to the issue at hand.

"You will unite, or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom."

And she was gone again. _Gee thanks Captain! I had no idea! _Huffing, she shifted in her uncomfortable seat and unsheathed her dagger, playing with it absentmindedly. _Fidget like a junkie, hell smack yourself in the face, just DON'T fall asleep._

Though mildly intrigued by the petite woman, Legolas couldn't help but to be frustrated. Here they were, discussing the precarious fate of all Middle Earth, and she was becoming a distraction not only to herself, but to the others as well. Did she not understand? Was she simply trying to brush the situation off? No matter what the excuse was, he was quite sure it wasn't a good one.

Still, even though it was a small part of him, there was still a part, an inkling of fascination which he held for the girl. She had arrived after the others, just before the Council meeting was to take place. He remembered being shocked when she had removed her hood to reveal short locks of hair, cropped extremely close on the sides of her head, and kept longer through the top and front. Why would a woman do such things to her hair? This anomaly was unheard of to him. She must have hailed from a faraway place. In fact, her origin was further away than he could have ever truly comprehended.

"Ah, it is a gift, a gift to the foes of Mordor! Why not use this ring?!" As Boromir continued on with his pointless rant, Clara rolled her eyes and resisted the strong urge to facepalm. "You are a fool and a brute for thinking such things, Boromir, son of Denethor. This ring, this _evil_ vessel of Sauron will do us no good lest it be destroyed within the fires of Mount Doom."

It was the first time she had spoken openly, and it seemed to stop the misguided warrior in his tracks. To say Legolas was surprised was an understatement. In fact, even if he didn't want to admit it, he was the slightest bit impressed. And her voice, that was strange, too. Strange, but beautiful.

"And what would you know of it? You're nearly a child! Look at you!" Gritting her teeth, Clara stood, staring at him with cold, fierce green eyes. "Do not presume to know anything about me, soldier of Gondor. For I know more than you will ever dream to see." With that she sat back down, and waved her hand dismissively. "I believe we are quite finished, now please do continue."

But unfortunately, it was the insufferable mortal who continued. "By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe! Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy. Let us use it against him!"

Thankfully, it was Aragorn who spoke out against his foolish raving this time. "You cannot wield it!"

Heaving another sigh, Clara rested her forehead in her hand, her arm propped on the armrest of her chair.

"It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came! One of you, must do this." Elrond's voice rang out powerfully through the meeting, and all was silent. For a brief moment at least, before Boromir's voice once again made itself heard.

"One does not simply walk into Mordor. It's black gates are guarded by more than just orcs. There is evil there, that does not sleep. And the great eye, is ever watchful. 'Tis a barren wasteland, riddled with fire and-"

_"and ash and dust," yeah yeah we get it. _The woman bit her lip nervously and her foot continued to tap incessantly on the stone beneath them. She knew this fight that was quickly brewing would happen, whether or not she spoke up. _For all that is meant to pass will surely come to fruition. _

She looked on, catching Frodo's emotion-filled eyes and rolling her own at the scene unfolding before them. He granted her a small, tight-lipped smile, and she nodded as if to say "well go on," before his voice struggled to grab the quarreling Council's attention. "I will take it!" Clara smiled encouragingly at him, and gave him a little nudge. "A little louder, then?" Gulping, he nodded and stepped forth.

"I will take it! I will take the ring to Mordor. Though, I do not know the way." Gandalf closed his eyes and sighed in defeat; even though he knew it must happen, he still wished it didn't have to. Clara looked at the wizened wizard, and a pang of guilt and utter sadness racked her heart as she recalled his unfortunate fate.

And it was Clara who spoke up first, in a soft and comforting voice, "Worry not, little one, for I shall aid you in your journey."

Gandalf pledged his aid next, followed by Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and Boromir. Then, out of the bushes came flying a small, rather pudgy hobbit, and two more slender ones. _So this is Samwise Gamgee, Merry, and Pippin. _

Legolas stole a glance at the tiny girl. She couldn't have been taller than five feet, how was she to aid in this difficult and perilous journey? What could a woman do if captured by orcs or worse, Saruman's Urukai?! Clara was a rather peculiar character, in fact she stuck out in council like a sore thumb. But she was here to help the Fellowship, to aid Frodo's mission to take the ring to Mount Doom on Gandalf's orders, so aid them she would.

Unbeknownst to all save Elrond and Gandalf, Clara was from a place called Earth. She had been thrown unceremoniously into this world, with no hopes of finding her way back, and so she contented herself by training and preparing for the long journey ahead. There was only one problem however, and that was that when she "fell" into Middle Earth, she had lost her memories of the Fellowship, and all that came after. Spurts of recollection were all she had, and those were painful to experience. The wizard had begun trying to train her to control them, but it was to no avail. Every once in a while, head splitting pain would rack her brain, and her chest would constrict; the minute she passed out from the pain, she recieved the vision she was meant to see. It incapacitated her for only a few moments at a time, but it angered her just the same.

Her third and most recent premonition, as Elrond called them, was a vision of Gandalf, falling off a rocky precipice. She kept this to herself, not wanting to change the course. She had seen the Council, and she had seen Boromir's death, but now she also burdened herself with the death of Gandalf the Grey as well. She sighed again, pressing her fingers into her eyes to try to rid herself of the pain that lay within the Fellowship's future.

A pain that was now growing swiftly in her mind. "No," was all she could manage, and, desperate not to let the Fellowship believe her weak, she bolted, sprinting from the courtyard and down the open hallway, sweating bullets as the pain threatened to take her. She wasn't going to make it to her room. Her knees slammed into the stone floor beneath her, jarring her body, and she grasped her hair as the pain increased. It was closer now, she could feel it coming. Already her eyes were resorting to tunnel vision. "No!" She spat, and then there was nothing.

(Vision)

_Merry and Pippin were screaming as the Uruks descended upon her broken and violated body, cackling and jeering as she cried out in pain. "Let's have a wee bit of fun, shall we?" One of the nastier looking Uruks spat on her, and they grabbed her as she screamed and yelled. She cried out for help, but no one came. There was a sharp pain in the back of her head, and she was knocked unconscious._

(End Vision)

Coming to, she bolted awake, panting and sweating profusely. "Lady Reinaert?" Gasping, she whirled around to see Aragorn, watching her with worried eyes. Inching herself along the floor to lean back against the stone wall of the peaceful hallway, she closed her eyes, taking deep breaths. "D-Did anybody else-" Aragorn gave her a comforting look. "See? Aye, but it was only Legolas and Boromir. Now do you mind explaining what just happened?" Sighing, she rubbed her face and stood. "Walk with me," she spoke quietly now, trying to find any spying eyes or ears. Seeing none, she began. "Well, I should probably start from the beginning then. You see, I am not from this place, this Middle Earth. I am from a very different, very faraway place called Earth. A year ago, I found myself here, with a nasty bump on the head. You see, in my world, there are books, and moving pictures, that tell of what has happened and what has yet to come to pass here in this world. I knew everything that was to happen. Unfortunately, this vital knowledge did not translate to this world with me so clearly. I am now plagued with terrible premonitions." Almost immediately, Aragorn's face lit up. "So you can tell us what is to happen then? How many have you had?! How frequent are they?" At this, Clara looked down at her worn boots. "I cannot speak of such things, for Gandalf forbade me. I am allowed to help you in whatever physical way I can, but my knowledge is naught but a plague. Should I change or influence something, the outcome of this journey may drastically be affected." His face fell as he took in her words, and she looked away, waiting for curses and rejection, but instead, she felt a hand squeeze her shoulder. "I have great faith in you, Lady Reinaert, and I trust in Gandalf's judgement. You shall prove a great asset to the Fellowship, regardless of your premonitions." Giving him a small smile, she patted his hand. "I appreciate your kind words, Aragorn son of Arathorn, but they provide little comfort to my plight. For that, I am truly sorry." And with that, she walked away, shaking with fear and anguish. She did not want to die by the hands of the Uruk-hai. And she was sure that they'd torture and ruin her before they did kill her. A lone tear crept slowly down her face, and she proceeded through the hall with her head down.

Suddenly, she ran into someone, and would have surely fallen on her ass, were it not for the slender arm wrapped tentatively around her waist. She looked up, and found herself staring straight into the clear blue eyes of Legolas Greenleaf.

Well shit. As if this couldn't get more awkward. "S-sorry your highness, I didn't mean to-" but before she could finish, he stopped her mid-sentence. "Please don't call me that, Lady Reinaert. Legolas is my name. Are you alright?" She gulped, and stared at him. _God why is he so beautiful? It's really not fair at all. Fuck he's waiting for an answer, you idiot! _"My apologies, and I am perfectly fine." She managed to squeak out, and tried to rush past him, but to no avail.

"Lady Reinaert! Are you sure you're alright?" She turned and nodded. "Don't worry about me your high-Legolas, I can tend to my own problems perfectly well." And with that, she scurried away, eager to get to her quarters and away from the Prince.

Legolas furrowed his brow, thoroughly confused by Clara's behavior. He had only meant to be polite, but it seemed common courtesy was a rare occurrence to the young girl. This frustrated him, but what angered him more was the fact that he had this eagerness, a yearning really, growing within him. He needed to know more about her, about her odd behavior, and why she was here. He was anxious to learn her place or purpose in this fellowship. But he knew he shouldn't be so intrigued or interested in this mortal girl. She was simply one more person to look out for, another hassle he had to deal with.

_But perhaps this mortal is not what she seems. She has yet to prove herself. You know naught but her name, and what fleeting glances you stole during the council. Perhaps all she needs is a chance._

He was extremely perturbed. The Mirkwood Prince hated having conflicting feelings, and he felt as if he was putting himself at a disadvantage. After all, even the slightest distraction could result in death or injury, to himself or other members of the fellowship. He had to be aware and on alert at all times, poised for whatever troubles may cross their path. Sighing, he resorted to shoving all thoughts of Clara to the back of his mind, and retired to his room for some much needed rest.


	2. Author's Note

**No, this is not a chapter, and there won't be one for quite a long time on ANY of my stories if I don't get reviews. The absolute LACK of ANY support on this site is appalling. With that said, I fucking refuse to post another chapter until you people step up to the plate.**


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